Smoke and Mirrors
by Mad-Maudlin-42
Summary: In 1998, Draco Malfoy died and left Malfoy Manor to Hermione in his will. Five years later, Hermione finds some things that she didn't expect: roses and a tangled web of heirs.
1. Prologue: Rose Buds

Disclaimer: The characters in this work belong to J. K. Rowling. This is a work of fan fiction and the author is earning no profit from this Internet publication. This story is dedicated to Jessica, who was the first person to read and edit this story. Our first discussion took place in the bathroom during drama. She convinced me to listen to my Muse. Thus, the story has taken a darker turn than I originally expected. The title of every chapter is a colored rose. Each has a specific meaning which relates to the theme of the chapter. I will post the meanings at the very end of the story so the readers may reflect upon my intent.  
  
Note: This story takes place five years after the fall of Voldemort in 1998. During the war, Draco Malfoy died and left Malfoy Manor to Hermione in his will. Because of her parents' deaths, she accepted the property.  
  
Prologue: Rose Buds  
  
I don't read the newspaper anymore. If something major happened, one of my co-workers is bound to tell me when I arrive in the morning. Or I already know.  
  
I think I surprised Harry in my sixth year when I told him I didn't want to be an Auror (for some reason, everyone had that impression of me) but rather to be a Healer. "You spend enough time in the hospital wing that I've started to get to know it," I said. Besides, ever since I was young-- before I knew I was a witch-- I wanted to be a doctor. I wanted to go to Cambridge, or maybe overseas. I wanted to help people. And that's what I can do now.  
  
I'm Hermione Granger. I'm twenty-three, and I'm alive, thank you very much. A few people I could mention didn't think I would make it through the war. Well I did. And I didn't go into hiding. I saved lives when I could-- and lost a few, as well. There are many things I regret, things that I dream about. People I couldn't save.  
  
Like Draco. I did all I could. We were eighteen, for God's sake. I wasn't even officially enrolled as a Healer. But I was the only one there. And Draco died that night. Died and left me alone in Malfoy Manor.  
  
I have lived there ever since. It's big and empty and I when I am not at St. Mungo's, I am there. Writing. People come by every so often, in ones and twos. Not frequently. I can write. I have to write down everything that's happened since I found out I was a witch. Writing it down makes it feel like it actually happened, especially the war. Sometimes I'm not sure if it did. But then I realize why I'm living in Malfoy Manor.  
  
Narcissa-- Draco's mother-- seemed to like photography. There are albums in closets and boxes of unsorted photographs in the attic. I believe that shall be my next project, when I've finished the book. Find out who they are. Some of them I recognize, like sunken-eyed Bellatrix and a somber Sirius at what I think is his brother's funeral.  
  
But everything is so regular these days. Routine. And, I must admit, boring. It's been almost five years since the defeat of Tom Riddle. We've stopped calling him Voldemort-- he was just a man, after all. A very intelligent half-blooded wizard named Tom Riddle.  
  
I've spoken to Harry already, and something's going to happen on the anniversary here at Malfoy Manor. Social life will return to its gardens; its kitchen will be used for something other than heating my canned soup; and there will be candles in every chandelier. 


	2. Part I: The Yellow Rose

Part I: The Yellow Rose  
  
Today-- 18 August, 2003-- it is five years since my best friend became a murderer. It is five years since my mentor Remus Lupin avenged James and Sirius and killed Peter Pettigrew. It is five years today since the death of that mysterious young man who left me this strange house full of shadows and photographs.  
  
And we are celebrating.  
  
I wondered what it must have been like for Draco, to grow up in this house. This sort of thing must have been a regular occurrence. How strange a childhood. I was raised by dentists. Middle class-- they did well enough to send me to a private school until I was summoned to Hogwarts.  
  
I had thought I would be excited, but some of me was just too heavy. I could care less that Seamus is getting divorced yet again. My guests in the gardens laughed and smiled. The air was heavy with the scent of hot roses. There were somber pauses when the name of one of the Fallen was mentioned. One would think I would be talking books with Lupin or Snape, but neither were there, but each for very different reasons. But I made the rounds as mistress of Malfoy Manor, and I shook hands and I smiled, and I nodded and. . . it was enough to me sick.  
  
I wandered into a deeper garden when Harry stood up to make a speech. He'd practiced it on me earlier that day, and I'd corrected a split infinitive or two and we'd laughed like we were students again-- McGonagall always abhorred improper grammar in our essays.  
  
I hadn't put candles in every of the pathway sconces, so as I walked farther in, it became darker. "Lumos," I muttered.  
  
And then I found it. A gate I'd never seen before, in all the years I'd lived here. In twisted verdigris copper, there was the Malfoy crest. I pushed at it, but it was locked. "Allohamora," I said. The gate did not budge.  
  
"Oh come on," I said, perhaps to myself. "I want to know what's in there, but I've got to get back and be the lady of this house." I thought I heard something laughing, but it was a mechanical jack-in-the-box of a laugh. "Oh, bugger off," I muttered and shone the light of my wand around. The stone walls on either side of the gate were encrusted with ivy. And yet, there was an edge of bronze shining from one side. I peeled away the foliage and discovered a plaque: Camille Malfoy, 1866-1888. "That's all?" I asked it indignantly. "Well, Camille Malfoy, I'll be back." I returned the way I had come, and arrived out in the lights again.  
  
The area, however, was empty save one figure standing in the center of the mosaic courtyard. It was Harry, waiting for me. I walked toward him slowly, uneasy of what had happened. "I wasn't going to leave without saying goodbye," he said quietly. "Everyone else has left."  
  
"What?" I said, frantically looking around. "What time is it?"  
  
"After four-- we all got a bit worried. Where were you?" Harry asked.  
  
"I'm not sure," I said. "After four. . . what the hell happened?"  
  
"To you, I don't know," he said. "Out here, not much. Formal. Terrifying, perhaps."  
  
"I'm sorry. I know tonight was probably hard for you."  
  
"A bit," he admitted. "Ironic that we celebrate here of all places."  
  
"I know," I said. "I visited Draco's grave this morning. And Ron's."  
  
"Ah," said Harry, but nothing more. We were silent. Harry and I were many things: best friends, partners-in-crime, and briefly lovers. The last of these was hardly longer than three months-- but the press loved it. We didn't.  
  
That night, as I stood there in velvet again for the first time since before Riddle's fall, I looked in Harry's eyes. Absinthe green. I could tell exactly why we didn't work: we knew each other too well. We both wanted mystery, and that was something neither of us had. "Well, err, you have work-- class-- tomorrow don't you?" he said awkwardly.  
  
"I don't work on Tuesdays," I reminded him. There was that silence again. I embraced Harry and wished I could be 'his sister or something' again. Over his shoulder, I could see that intriguing path. I was drawn to it; it was magnetic and I was iron. Harry seemed, for a moment, in the way of what I needed to do. It was a burden: to get inside. And I wondered if once inside, I would still have that feeling. If the creak of hinges would be true satisfaction. I stepped back, let go of Harry, and felt wretched to feel he was in the way of my mission. "Sorry," I said.  
  
"Good night, Hermione," he answered.  
  
"Good night," I nodded. He Apperated away-- to wherever he lived at that point; he moved often-- and I started to head back towards the copper gate.  
  
How long had I been standing there in front of the walls? It took me longer this time to find it again, and when I tried sticking my lighted wand through the gate to see what was behind it, but it was just darkness.  
  
I examined the plaque again-- and then an idea came to me. I stripped away the ivy on the other side, to reveal a matching plaque. At first glance it was gibberish. However, I knew the Malfoy nature well enough to guess that it was a code. I conjured a paper and pencil and carefully copied it down: "Ymvad mdomzm-- qustf ue ymvad mdomzm-- eujfqqz rad ymvad mdomzm-- rahd. Bmsq ar bqzfmoxqe ixx ruzp zuzq as fqz ar eidps ur etq ue ymvad mdomza-- lqda-- qp nk ruhq ar imzpe. Wbustf ar ogbe nduzse zuzq ar imzpe. Ymvad mdomzm-- qusthqqz mzp daeqe imuf rad kag. Iqxoayq. O. Ymxrak."  
  
That was all I could take. I know what becomes of curiosity and certain felines, so I gave in to my tiredness and went back into the Manor and slept-- uneasily, though. I dreamed of the gate in the dark garden. I dreamed of Draco wandering a labyrinth; Draco laughing at time and leading an army; Draco crucified with rose thorns.  
  
I didn't remember it fully, but when I woke, my pillow was wet with tears. 


	3. Part II: The Lavender Rose

Disclaimer: The characters in this work belong to J. K. Rowling. This is a work of fan fiction and the author is earning no profit from this Internet publication. This story is dedicated to Jessica, who was the first person to read and edit this story. Our first discussion took place in the bathroom during drama. She convinced me to listen to my Muse. Thus, the story has taken a darker turn than I originally expected. The title of every chapter is a colored rose. Each has a specific meaning which relates to the theme of the chapter. I will post the meanings at the very end of the story so the readers may reflect upon my intent.  
  
Part II: The Lavender Rose  
  
I started on the code first thing when I awoke. I boiled water for tea and stared at it, searching for patterns. I am no Auror, I cannot discover what pattern it is at first glance. I am a healer, but a well- read one. As a youth, my mother would have to almost literally frisk me before we went anywhere-- like church or to the theatre-- to see if I had a book hidden on me somewhere.  
  
Codes are a convenient thing, and the Order used them frequently, especially when transporting spells to other sources. They are so handy-- and frustrating-- that they cannot be decoded by any form of spell. Professor Snape, my master of all subtleties, was adept at them in all ways- - writing and decoding. I wished I could call on him now, for him to say this was simple and that all it needed was a key-- and to use logic, Granger.  
  
Perhaps I was just depressed after considering last night. I visited the tombs of several of my friends-- and enemies-- who fell during the Last Battle and have their graves marked with ornate stones from the Ministry. And I forgot one of the most important who was lost:  
  
Severus Snape does not have a grave. I prayed for him to inspire me and to aid me to discover this secret of the Malfoys. He was, after all, the one whose recommendation determined I was one of the select few apt enough for St. Mungo's.  
  
I recalled the plaques, and found nothing special about them. The key seemed to be the end of the quotation, for it came to me that the speaker's name "Ymxrak" had the same number of letters as "Malfoy." The gate had a large "M" on it-- for Malfoy, I had presumed. But that was it: the key.  
  
During the war, I spent almost three weeks acting in place of Professor Snape while he was away on Order business. I didn't do it just because he asked me, or because I felt I wanted to prove myself, I did it only because I could. I produced poisons for both sides of the war. Aside from the time I made wolfsbane, the most difficult responsibility was codes. Snape taught me how I would decode the lengthy message, and I realized that this same pattern was what was used on Camille Malfoy's plaque.  
  
The code had a key letter. In my case now, it was M. I wrote out the alphabet in block letters at the top of a page. Underneath A, I wrote an M, then progressed through the alphabet ending with L under Z. I sighed, knowing how long these things usually took. And I began, starting with the Ymxrak. Y became M; M was a A; X became L; R decoded to F; A to O and K to Y. MALFOY it said in big letters on my parchment. I cheered, and heard it echo through my empty Manor.  
  
#  
  
Almost three hours later, I had a completed riddle in front of me. I put my throbbing head down and sighed. Finished, it made hardly more sense than it did in gibberish. "Major Arcana- Eight Is Major Arcana- Sixteen For Major Arcana- Four. Page of Pentacles Will Find Nine Or Ten Of Swords If She Is Major Arcana- Zeroed By Five Of Wands. Knight Of Cups Brings Nine Of Wands. Major Arcana- Eighteen And Roses Wait For You. Welcome. C. Malfoy."  
  
I gave up Divination for a reason. However, after a bit of rummaging through old papers, I found a slightly singed deck of tarot cards. With it was the well-thumbed leather-bound book of descriptions. I wondered if this had belonged to Camille Malfoy. I ran my fingers slowly over the small watercolor paintings. The High Priestess in flowing blue held the moon in her palm, and she looked so delicate. I propped up her card, and she watched me carefully as I leafed through the booklet.  
  
It was simple enough, but annoying. Eventually the message and my notes read: "Power (Strength) is destruction (the Tower) for authority (the Emperor). A young scholar (Page of Pentacles) will find nightmares (Nine of Swords) or misery (Ten of Swords) if she is (Fool)ed by internal strife (Five of wands). An opportunity or the arrival of a lover (Knight of Cups) brings success or pleasure (Nine of Cups). Hidden enemies (the Moon) and roses wait for you. Welcome. C. Malfoy"  
  
I put my head down on the desk. It was past noon, and the narrow stained glass windows-- barely an eye's view-hole-- made bars of melted color and alternating black appear across my parchment. They fell from the top left hand corner, and down to the bottom right. I took the sheet in my ink-smeared hands and marched through the garden again. Seeing it in daylight at last, I understood why I had overlooked the silent path before. It was not the tea-garden where I usually wandered, it was wild and powerful. And yet. . . when I arrived in front of the gate again, I felt foolish. Like I would recite a translated inscription to the ghost of a Victorian Malfoy and she would bid me enter. I laughed at myself.  
  
Then I peeled back the foliage over the coded plaque again. The shadows of the sun slanted across the lines like the rainbows of the windows had. They led off the edge and down the wall. My eyes followed it until the beams reached the stone path. Where they met was a stone that was a little loose. I stared at it for a moment, then pried my fingernails under it and lifted. There it was: an ornate verdigris key.  
  
I freed it from the moist soil and turned it in the gate. It opened reluctantly, and I entered Camille Malfoy's garden.  
  
The most noticeable thing I noticed at first was that it was much colder across the flagstone border. It seemed as if I had entered an entirely different world-- like when I first ran through a brick pillar at King's Cross Station. This was old magic. The other side of the gate was overwhelmed by wild roses and heather. I was on a hill, I realized, and when I looked down there was labyrinth the foot of the hill. All I had to do was run down it and I would be in its mouth. I was shocked to find this place, the maze that stretched for miles out in front of me-- I knew the grounds of Malfoy Manor were huge (and legally mine) but I did not know about this. Perhaps no one did.  
  
I started down the hill, still with the entire labyrinth in my view. I seemed so free, and I wandered through walls of marble and barriers of vines. I heard something, a rushing sound, like splashing water, so I took to following it to its source, a dead-end.  
  
In the center of the plaza was a fountain, a brass dragon breathing water. There was a man, his skin the color of the page before the poem. He had dunked his head in the fountain and when he brought it up again and peeled long white hair from his face, he gasped to see me. His eyes were wide and spice-red-- an albino. He breathed abruptly, almost hyperventilating. Then his pale lips cracked into a smile, and when he spoke, he seemed unused to conversation. His thin voice came out a guttural stutter: "H-hello, G-g-granger. . ." 


	4. Part III: The White Rose

Part III: The White Rose  
  
"W-what are you d-d-d-doing here?" he asked me.  
  
"I found the gates-- Camille Malfoy-- and the key. . ." I fidgeted. Who was he, and how did he know my name? I knew that anything here should not be taken for its face value. He blinked rapidly, with long yet almost invisibly pale eyelashes. There was something I had seen before in his face: the high hairline, or the way his movement didn't seem entirely stable or sane. "Do you live here?" I asked for some absurd reason.  
  
His laugh was a series of shudders. He didn't answer me, but asked a question of his own: "Do you know how to g-get out?"  
  
"I have the key," I said, then looked behind me. The path was a tangle of roads that all looked similar. "Fuck!" I yelled at them, then turned back to the albino, who was now sitting on the fountain's seat, wringing out his hair. I was scared, afraid I'd be lost forever in my own folly with this strange man.  
  
"I can sh-show you," he said softly. "Hermione."  
  
"Oh, how the hell do you know me?" I said, pacing the plaza, looking out down the path.  
  
"You d-don't recognize me," he considered. "Why should you, after all; after so long? I gave you all of th-th-this. . ." he said, gesturing around the labyrinth. He came towards me, his walk a limp from a mangled foot. There was something shining familiar in his reddish eyes. Something about his sunken cheekbones. . .  
  
"No," I whispered. "You're dead! Not you. . ." And he bowed slightly awkwardly to me, and I knew all too well. "Draco," I said.  
  
"I-I am yours," he told me.  
  
"How the hell do I get out of here," I said, backing into the maze again, thoroughly spooked.  
  
"You have the key?" Draco implored. I nodded silently. He took my wrist firmly, and pulled me though.  
  
"It's really you, isn't it? But how-- albino?" I asked as he walked unsteadily towards the hill again.  
  
"I-I was born this w-way," he said quietly.  
  
"But when we were at school--" I began. "Blond, gray eyes." How I wanted to run. To wake up and know this wasn't happening.  
  
"My hair was d-dyed. Th-the eyes, an illusion." He didn't look at me. "Oh," I said, for nothing seemed to work better. "I know," he said, "I looked l-like my f-fa-father."  
  
"He's dead," I said, more to myself than to Draco.  
  
"I know," he said promptly.  
  
As a healer, things in my mind started turning. "I've never read of any genetic disorders in the Malfoy family before," I wondered aloud.  
  
"There-there aren't any. It was my grand-mother's side," he answered, winding his way around corners of marble and ivy. I followed Draco, listening, entranced. "Her f-father and brother were albino, but both had d-d-di-died before my mother and a-aunts were born," he stopped and let go of my wrist at last. It had gone slightly numb. "You know my cousin N-n-nymphadora--" I nodded. Tonks proved herself fully near the war's end-- "Sh-she's one too, but since she's a M-me-metamorph. . ." He breathed heavily again, sweeping wet hair from his face. He spoke quickly, and almost nervously, as if he was afraid to have someone hear him. ". . . you c-c-can't tell." He broke off into a sudden fit of coughing.  
  
I stopped, unprepared. This wasn't like the Draco I had known as a teenager, or even the Draco who had died because I could do nothing to save him. He was tall, like I remembered him. Five years ago, he was slender; now he was six feet and three inches of white ribbon. He was porcelain, and his walk was an unsure limp through the labyrinth. He stopped coughing and looked up, as if surprised that I had waited for him. When was the last time he'd seen another person? I asked myself. Of course he's a bit afraid. . . "Why did you have to hide it?" I said cautiously.  
  
"My father. It's a sign of w-weakness. Said R-ri-riddle would never ac-cept me if he knew. I-i-it's this way to go out, Hermione." He paused before saying my name, tasting it, seeing if it was all right to address me by any other name than Healer Granger. I nodded my consent and followed my pale companion. The journey seemed longer than it had as I wandered to the plaza. The entire maze was one surreal poem, its meaning lost, and shifting structure remaining.  
  
"Aren't you going to a-ask me why I'm here? Ask wh-why I gave you the M-m-manor?" Draco spoke to me over his shoulder as he dragged his left foot to the side in his loping gait.  
  
"No," I said, running my fingers over smooth marble walls. "Because this is the dream. It's the night before the soiree. The gate and the message and you are all part of the dream. And if I ask you too much, you'll be about to tell me and then I'll wake up. And once I wake up, I'll have to search for a labyrinth that doesn't exist to find a man who has been dead half a decade. If I ask you, I'll be even more disappointed when I wake up."  
  
"I suppose that's only fair," Draco agreed, but avoided my eyes. "The key?" he held out his hand for it. I fished it from my pocket and he turned it in the lock. It opened outward into the garden once more. I stepped through the arch again. Draco handed me the key above the threshold. He made no further movement across.  
  
"You're coming, aren't you?" I asked.  
  
"I-I-I c-can't. It's not allowed," he said mournfully.  
  
"Bullshit! I'm the one who worried about rules all the time." I grasped his hand and pulled him out of the labyrinth.  
  
Author's Notes: I generally don't leave notes in my story if I can avoid it. I find it distracting to the story's flow and I promise I won't do it often. However, I thought I should mention that I really don't like this chapter and I'm probably going to re-write it later. There are times when I think something a character says may seem OOC at first but then I realize how much the characters have changed and matured from the time that JK Rowling's work leaves off. This chapter is pushing it. I'm not happy with it and I totally understand if you share my opinion.  
  
Draco's speech pattern is a result of shock during the war. I've read that victims who were shell-shocked in wars will often have a stutter but they grow to overcome it with time. Such is the case with Draco. The places he stutters are actually based on a person I know who stutters. I've watched him sort of in research for the places and words that sound natural.  
  
Also, no matter how much an author loves praise (and I am indeed an attention-whore) I would like to hear some comments about what you didn't like so that it may be amended. However, if it's something as important as you don't like Draco being albino, you're going to have to live with it. I will take all comments into consideration, but don't be so sure I'll comply. Please inform me especially on issues regarding style; I try my hardest to be in-character when writing something first-person but it doesn't always work. I've studied Hermione's character and word choice in the books and tried to imitate her language as well as I can, but there are times when I'm not sure what her reaction to something would me. That's when I start making the choices and not Hermione. That's not always good.  
  
My final comment goes to the reviewer Trily: I'm afraid you're wrong. The books are set from 1991 to 1998. Hermione and company were born in 1980. Since her birthday hadn't come yet, she was still seventeen when Draco died. There. Next chapter will most likely be up next Wednesday, so please check back and see! 


	5. Part IV: The Pale Peach Rose

Part IV: The Pale Peach Rose  
  
I believe that one can never aptly describe a sunset. Time is strange: perhaps it is the nature of the very old magic that sealed the labyrinth that alters the perception of time. While I paced in front of it for the first time at about eleven, I returned at four. When I found Draco, it was high noon in the gardens, yet the sun proved to be at mid-morning in the maze. Once we came out, it was heading towards twilight.  
  
I suppose it was a bizarre lunacy of mine that compelled me to bring Draco here. How could I have known what was going to happen?  
  
There are thirty-six stairs that lead from the vast courtyard to the inside of Malfoy Manor. Draco cast me scathing looks when I tired to assist him up them. I know how he felt-- In the five years I've lived here, I have counted them numerous times. It is usually thirty-six, but it varies if I don't happen to be sober when I'm going up them. I could never stand anyone helping climb stairs-- be it my mother when I was two; or Harry and Professor Lupin when I'm twenty-three.  
  
The first thing Draco did upon entering was pace to the study and examine the blank space on the wall above the desk. "Where's the ca-calendar?" he said almost desperately. Silently, I pointed to the opposite wall where I had moved it. "19 August, 2003," he read aloud, amazed. "Oh damn. Hermione, it's a new millennium!" His grin was ridiculous, though I suppose that's one of the first things I would have wanted to know if I were in his place.  
  
"Happy new year," I said. "It's been five years, actually."  
  
He turned back to the calendar. "And it's W-endsday. Where do you w-ork now? At t-th-the Ministry?"  
  
I shook my head. "I'm a Healer second-class at St. Mungo's. I don't work Tuesdays unless it's an emergency." His face adopted a confused, slightly saddened look. "What?" I asked critically.  
  
"Only ssecond-class? I w-would have expected first by now!" He laughed again.  
  
"The test is next year," I said primly. "And yes, I've already started studying. Some things never change." I examined Draco, so pale in a ragged shirt that may have been white years ago. And some things definitely do, I thought.  
  
He drifted out past me, his fingers tracing the subtle patterns of the wallpaper, each of his nerves sensing every little change I had made to his home. My home, I corrected myself. Draco left Malfoy Manor to me in his will-- a strange thing to do.  
  
He paused in front of the double doors to the master bedroom. "Y-you haven't gone and done something s-stupid, have you, Hermione? Like gotten married?"  
  
"No," I said emphatically. "I took the third floor guest room."  
  
"Smart girl," he commented absently. He turned the handles gently, like a child slipping in during the night, attempting not to wake his parents. The first thing he did however, was fling open his father's closet and snatch a shirt and pants. I realized Draco must have had what he was wearing for his entire half-decade imprisonment. "Does the w-ater still work?" he asked me. "There-there's only so much one can do in f-fountains."  
  
"I live here, so the water bloody well should work," I said.  
  
#  
  
"You could have ssold it," said Draco. I started, not expecting him to have come into the kitchen. "I w--ouldn't have minded."  
  
"But I haven't," I said, collecting myself. "Could I make tea? Coffee?"  
  
He looked around, a bit dazed. "Wh--ere's the staff?"  
  
I brought out a kettle. "Gone, before I came here. Some were murdered, some fled. I can cope quite well on my own."  
  
"Of course," he said. "S-sorry."  
  
I sat down at the small table in the center of the kitchen. Draco watched me, standing. There was silence between us. "How's Potter?" he asked.  
  
"Tired. I hardly see him, nowadays, but he's fine as far as I know. The same as you knew him-- if a bit, err, calmer."  
  
That earned an upward twist of the corner of his pale mouth. "Well. What about. . . W-easley?"  
  
"Well which one?" I said, and ticked them off on my fingers. "Ron and Charles are dead. Bill is back in Egypt. The twins are fine, I suppose, and Ginevra's working in America." I paused, trying to remember who I'd forgotten. "Ah yes. No-one knows where Percy's gone. There were rumours he'd fled the country."  
  
"Blood traitors are all the same," he said. "And what of Professor Snape?"  
  
"Dead."  
  
Draco turned away. "Damn," he whispered. The tea kettle wailed.  
  
I jumped at its similarity to a human scream. I handed Draco his cup, but did not pour myself any. "How much has happened in fi-five years?"  
  
"A lot. A lot of people have died; a lot of people have gone places; and a lot of people have done a lot of good-- and bad-- things."  
  
"Very informative, Hermione. Not to mention overwritten." Through a shroud of white hair, I could see that his smirk was the same. "Do have the Daily Prophet?"  
  
"No, I don't subscribe anymore. But every year I've bought the yearly compilation of articles. I saw that your family's been collecting them for quite some time, and continued the set. I think the ones from the '40s are the most interesting."  
  
"That's it!" he said. "F--five years worth of Prophet stories. Let me see!"  
  
"In the library," I said. He followed, entranced.  
  
#  
  
He was onto 2000 when I told him I was going to sleep. "I have work tomorrow, so I'll be home about five-thirty," I said.  
  
He gestured to the remaining two volumes. "I took for granted just h-how much could happen in f-ive years. In our world and-- and outside. The Queen Mum died. . ."  
  
"You died," I pointed out. "Well, sort of."  
  
"Yes, my obituary was-- entertaining, I suppose." He flipped pages aimlessly.  
  
"How exactly--"  
  
"No exactlys; not now. I must find out who won the election in America."  
  
"Draco--!" I put my hands on my hips and just sighed.  
  
"Hermione," he repeated in the same tone of voice. "You s-sounded exactly like my mum-- that's ve-very annoying. You owe a bloody lot to me, this house and everything. Just d-d-d-don't forget that."  
  
"I let you out," I frowned. "Good night."  
  
"Did I ask to be let out?" Draco said quietly to me as I retreated.  
  
I turned around, but he had returned to the Prophet. I watched him for a minute, reading fascinated. Just for a moment, the library's lights loaned his skin a tinge of color, and his hair flashed pale gold. Those clothes. . . I shuddered. He looked like his father. Uncannily like his father.  
  
#  
  
Alone again, I couldn't help but think about the Draco I had known. The arrogant boy who called me "Mudblood." The boy who sneered when I passed him in the halls. That gaunt teenager who was my fellow Prefect. But that was all some strange boy; and this was a man who had hidden himself from the world. He had been trapped in his own flesh.  
  
I gave up trying to brush a knot out of my hair and wound up staring at my reflection. My long face with such tired lines under the eyes. A stern face, my mother told me when I was only sixteen. I suppose it's stress. I think I've had my fair share of it in my life so far. I wondered how Draco saw me-- perhaps I was the only other person he'd seen in five years. Was I the same overly-mature bushy-haired bookworm he'd known only as a rival and a Gryffindor? Or was I just a useless apprentice he'd last seen looking frantically around for someone to stop the hemorrhaging before he died?  
  
Something must have drawn me to him before that point, though. One certainly can't sign a will posthumously. He was unquestionably mysterious, something I certainly never saw in Harry. 


	6. Part V: The Coral Rose

Part V: The Coral Rose

I Apperated to work early the next morning. "Morning, Granger," Augustus Pye mumbled from behind his newspaper.

"Hello, Gus," I responded to the Night-Shift wizard. "Your sister here yet?"

"She's in the Janus Thickey Ward," he said slowly. I nodded, and started towards the stairs. "Er. . . Hermione?" Gus called.

"Yes?" I turned around again.

"Um. . . never mind." He hid behind the _Daily Prophet_ again.

"Is everything all right?" No reply. I shrugged and went up to the fourth floor. Gus Pye's sister Letitia was in Hufflepuff a year behind me, and was my companion Trainee Healer. The door to the Janus Thickey Ward was ajar, and I pushed it open with my elbow.

Inside, two figures were standing beside the bed in the far corner. The patient in the bed seemed very still. "Letitia?" I whispered, coming closer. Then I recognized who was with her-- Neville. "Oh God," I said. "Alice?"

Letitia nodded. "Early this morning. There was nothing anyone could do; it was bound to happen, after so long," she said.

"Hermione. It's been a while. . ." Neville began shakily. I hugged my former classmate.

"There's coffee downstairs," I quietly told them.

"Nothing left here," Neville agreed.

Letita's hand was grasped tightly in his as we left the ward and went into the Healer's lounge. I poured coffee in the mournful silence.

"I've heard many things about your mother," I said. "They're almost legends to the Aurors, or so Harry says."

"Yes, legends," Neville said firmly. "Because for twenty-one years they've been here. Legends are. . . are only ideals combined with vague memories and lies! Not real people."

"Neville, I worked with your mother for almost five years, and I think she was the most real person I've ever met." Letitia avoided his eyes and concentrated on the swirling of the cream in her coffee.

"Oh, I've talked with Harry about them. The Aurors speak of them in hushed tones. . . or. . . or in the past tense. Do ever get the feeling, Hermione, that they were given up for dead twenty-one years ago when they came here?" Neville paced, a short stocky man with an intense anxious face.

"Neville, why the hell do you think they didn't die when you were two? Because they would never, ever give up!" I exclaimed. "And whatever you do," I continued, "you must not blame yourself."

"I'll still be taking care of your father, Neville. And _I'll_ take care of you," announced Letitia firmly.

Neville fidgeted a bit. "Can I talk to you alone?" he asked her.

I excused myself and went down to my seminar on the Dragonpox vaccination. The professor had already heard about Alice Longbottom; and the class began without Letitia.

#

Neville and Letitia were gone at the end of the day, so I went directly back to Malfoy Manor without stopping to talk with anyone on the way out. Alone in my room, I finally cried. I ran my fingers through Crookshanks' fur as he lay on the floor. After five minutes, though, he'd had enough and promptly raked his claws down the back of my hand and fled down the stairs. I must have exclaimed something not very pretty, because Draco looked rather surprised. I think living alone has made my. . . word choice. . . more _interesting_, because there's usually no-one here to hear me speak my mind. I must have looked quite the fool sitting on the floor, crying.

"Her-hermione?" he called from the doorway. "Wh-what happened? I refuse to believe you would cry over cat scratches."

"Alice Longbottom died this morning," I choked.

"Oh," was all he said. He sat down next to me on the plush carpet and tentatively put his arm around my shoulder.

"How come you're not dead?" I sniffed. "Why'd you leave me the Manor?"

"I left you the Manor before the War. Y-you could see, it's dated from J-j-anuary, 1998." He avoided my eyes.

"That's a when, not a why," I said crossly.

"It-- well it technically was to get back at my f-father, the bastard," he laughed. "I figured it was the o-only way I could s-send him to hell even more pissed then simply leaving the Manor up for grabs. If I h-hadn't claimed you as my heir, I think it would go to my aunt Andromeda's family when I died. Now my f-father hated the idea, but the thought of it being legally in the hands of a-- forgive me-- Muggle-born, was insult to injury."

"Why me, though?" I asked, looking into those hollowed dark-red eyes at last. "Just because I'm a Muggle-born Gryffindor?"

"Not really," said Draco. "Or, or rather, not only that. I've always admired you. I- I mean, you're incredibly smart, beautiful. . ."

"You certainly had an odd way of showing it."

"In, in the very beginning, I j-just followed my father. As I grew up, Hermione, I feared you would never ac-accept me. Because I had deceived everyone at Hogwarts; because I really am so weak. Because I'm really l-like this."

I must confess, I was flattered. "You defied your father. That's not weak," I said.

"But I n-never could have stood against him. I took the. . . political. . . way out. Signing my name is not the same as, say, laying a c-c-curse on him."

"But behold," I said wryly. "Proof of my convictions: the pen truly is mightier than the sword."

"Clever," he remarked.

"I never knew the Longbottoms well," I sighed. "I wonder how Frank will take it. Letitia Pye-- she used to be the Hufflepuff chaser, remember?-- she's spent so much time devoted to Spell Damage. And Neville. . ." I leaned against his shoulder. "Let's just say I wasn't thinking about Dragonpox today."

"I understand," Draco whispered. It was just one of those sudden surprising moments. His hands still shook as I held them. So many of the things I'd always wanted to know about Draco cannot be expressed in words. We just sat there. I cried, and he held me. Nothing more, nothing less.

Author's Notes: As I noted before, I love the praise I've gotten from all of you. This is my longest story and I'm proud of it and I love your reviews. They make me warm and fuzzy. However, a few things have concerned me. Many of you seem to be big Draco fans and it makes sense that you're reading this story because it has Draco as a main character. But, as Rowling herself has commented on her website, the love for Draco is quite strong due to Tom Felton's portrayal in the film. I hope the readers of my story aren't like that; I feel that's an insult to Rowling's character whom I see as a scheming, snarky, prejudiced bastard and PROUD of it. Now that may sound like a contradiction of the Draco I've presented in this chapter, but don't forget that this is told from Hermione's viewpoint; not mine. Her views are quite different than mine—after all, I (as the author and the omnipotent voice behind the story) see this Draco as having evolved from the canon but not having forsaken everything horrid he stood for as a teenager. Hermione is more forgiving and willing to accept that Draco has changed. As a reader, don't forget that Hermione is naive at times and has her own failings.

My other note is to request again that you tell me in your reviews where you think I could improve on this story. I have two more finished chapters ahead of me, so expect the next update after I finish Part VIII. I'm not sure how long this story will run, but it will be at least another five or six chapters. School is approaching again, so I apologize in advance if it takes longer between chapters these days. I've already promised I have to finish The Grapes of Wrath before I post Part VI.

I'm having a bit of trouble with Part VIII because the situation is so far removed from anything presented in Rowling's books. I'm hoping I can bring in some other characters because Part VII is almost entirely dialogue between Draco and Hermione.


	7. Part VI: The Yellow Carnation

Part VI: The Yellow Carnation

The funeral was on Sunday evening. I have been fortunate to have not needed to wear my black robes of mourning much since the war ended. During it, I wore them far too frequently. And out of some lunacy during that quiet evening, I asked Draco to come with me. Just so wouldn't be alone. He was surprised, but agreed.

An Auror's funeral is spectacle. I doubt the Minister for Magic will have as many people at her funeral. Flags of the Wizarding community flew at half-mast. Neville drew away from the action and chose to sit with Letitia, who was calmly sitting with Neville's father. Draco and I slid silently into seats towards the very back-- to avoid having to be dragged onstage to make a speech. I had seen Letitia briefly on Friday, and she said writing hers was very difficult. Luckily, nobody grabbed my elbow desperately right before the service.

It was an emotional service. The Minister for Magic remembered attending Hogwarts with Alice's mother. Tonks expressed that she had become and Auror in defiance of what her aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange, had done to the Longbottoms. And Letitia announced that she and Neville were engaged and she wished she could have told Alice.

I must say, this last bit didn't come as a surprise to me. Neville became the new Herbology professor at Hogwarts last year, and he visited his parents almost every weekend. Letitia's dedication to them never went unnoticed by him.

The reception was certainly the most interesting. The first person we met had a rather dramatic reaction to Draco. Luna Lovegood grabbed him by his dark robes and spun him around to face her. "I knew it!" she shrieked. "I knew you were fake all along!"

I turned around and looked at the short woman. Her scraggly dirty-blonde hair was almost to her knees, and she had a blue daisy behind her ear. "Um, hello, Luna," I ventured. Draco seemed shocked.

"Oh, hello," she said dreamily. "Is he _with_ you?"

"Y-yes, I am," said Draco.

Luna's round blue eyes got even wider. "May I write this _down_?" she breathed.

"No," I said at once. Luna worked for her father's magazine, _the Quibbler_. I hoped if she didn't write this down, she would forget.

"You. . . you 'knew I was fake,' Miss Lovegood?" Draco folded his arms. "How?"

"I've always liked the truth. So true things come to me. But I don't know _why_ it happens," she said cheerfully. "But it's handy as a journalist. Every word in _the Quibbler_ is true."

I smiled. It took effort not to laugh. After my relationship with Harry, I suppose I lost trust in the media. "I'll talk to you later, Luna," I said.

She drifted off. "She always reminded me of a d-d-dandelion," Draco mused.

"Oh she's all right," I sighed. "Neville's ex-girlfriend, I believe."

"Somehow, that doesn't seem too impossible."

"Hermione? Hermione, it is you!" a voice called.

"Ginevra!" I exclaimed. "I thought you were in America," I said as I hugged her. The youngest Weasley gave up on 'Ginny' at sixteen.

"I came back for the weekend; I got the owl from Neville around Friday. Oh, who's with you?" she asked.

"Hello, Miss Weasley," he said, offering his hand.

She shook it. "Who the hell are you?" she returned bluntly. "You look rather familiar. Have I met you before?"

"Yes," he said.

"I think I would remember you. An albino with a limp?"

"Come now! You can remember all your brothers' names but not mine, Weasley? I thought better of you," he quipped.

"Good God!" Ginevra exclaimed. "Malfoy!"

"The one and only," he said proudly.

"Hermione. . .?" she asked tentatively. "Explain this to me. He died."

"He came back to the Manor the day after the Anniversary." Not the entire truth; but then again, I didn't really feel like explaining it.

Ginevra was not satisfied. "Whose side were you on?"

"Neither."

"Tell me another one," she scoffed. "Where'd you go anyways; you were bleeding like mad. I was there," she said in disgust.

"I got lost."

"Where? Purgatory?" She turned to me. "I want a word with him. Alone."

Draco shrugged. I backed off. They drew away. I wandered with no purpose until I met up with Harry and Tonks. "Hello again," I said to him.

"You didn't make a speech," he said.

"I couldn't. I'm glad Neville understood."

"He's a good fellow," Tonks agreed.

"Did you come alone?" Harry asked.

"Sort of," I said.

"Sort of?" Tonks inquired. A curious gleam was in her eyes. They were a sad shade of gray today. "Who'd you come with?"

"Not important," I said.

"You're secretive lately, Hermione," Harry pondered.

"Well it wasn't exactly the most joyful of mornings," conceded Tonks.

"True," said Harry. "Want to get something to drink?"

I accepted and tossed a look over my shoulder for Ginevra and Draco, but they were nowhere in sight. I wondered why she was so irate. But I drew aside nonetheless.

"So how are things at the Ministry?" I asked my Auror friends.

"Tolerable," said Harry. "A few bad rumours before the Anniversary, but it turned out all right."

"Let me clarify-- nobody got hurt," said Tonks. To some she may seem frivolous, but during the grueling war effort, she proved her sensibility. That moment came when she took over Kingsley Shacklebolt's complex Napoleonic maneuvers after he was murdered. "That's why I didn't go to the Anniversary thing at the Manor, Hermione. Heard about, though."

"Hermione only heard about it too. She disappeared at around eleven," Harry remarked.

"Where'd you go? Find a secret passageway?" said Tonks.

"This is going to sound utterly foolish," I said. "I mean, one would think I'd seen everything about that house and grounds in five years. But that night, I found a labyrinth. I think it's a tomb for this Malfoy who died in the 1880s."

"They were an odd family. It's a bit sad-- and this will sound unusual coming from a half-blood like myself-- but to see two ancient bloodlines die out within a span of three years. . ." Tonks shook her head. "It's a shame. First the Blacks, then the Malfoys. . ." She sipped her drink silently.

_Not exactly_, I thought. It was then that Ginevra returned. "Don't trust him, Hermione," she warned.

"Miss Weasley, you must understand my p-p-point of view," Draco said, following her. "As a pure-blood yourself, if a peculiar one. . ."

"You're out of luck, Malfoy. I don't." She sighed and got herself a drink. "I don't know what you're thinking," she said to me.

"Ginevra, what's going on?" Harry asked.

"Malfoy here has an 'interesting view of the situation,' to quote him. What it really is is a load of lies and some vague threats."

"We were just talking about the Malfoys," said Tonks. "They're all dead."

"You're damn lucky to be a Metamorph, Nymphadora," said Draco to his cousin. "Why don't you show us your true colors? Or lack thereof, actually."

Tonks blinked a bit and then firmly clenched her teeth. Whether out of anger or surprise, I could not decipher. She closed her eyes and gave a pained sigh. Her white skin was even more pronounced against the black robes. The same pale hair, the same deep red eyes.

Harry stepped back in surprise. "Draco Malfoy. I thought we were done with you five years ago."

"I've done my catching up, Potter. Sh-shocked you're not Minister for Magic yet. The press seems more interested in you than her."

I winced and took that a bit too personally. "We're only twenty-three," I said in Harry's defense. "Minister must be thirty-one." Me and my store of useless information. . .

"I might run when I'm of age," said Harry calmly.

"You have my vote," Draco assured, but he seemed bored.

"Dead men can't vote," said Ginevra.

"Oh, I forgot. Remind me when the next election crops up. I'll have to hide my Cer-certificate of Death."

"You're not going to be staying that long," she growled. "I can't let you get away with this."

"Ginevra, what are you talking about? What did he tell you?" I asked.

"I can't tell you. I stopped trusting the Malfoys when I was drawn into that mess with Tom Riddle's diary. So I put a truth spell on him. Against his will, he told me exactly why here's here and how. But he retaliated," she said. Draco looked smug. "He bound me so that I _can't tell you_."

Harry glared at Draco. "It's n-not against the law," he said to the Aurors. "And n-neither is my intent, is it, Ginny?"

"Ginevra," she corrected firmly. "He's been plotting this for five years, the bastard! It's legal but I wish it weren't. And I can't stop him."

"You are the most arrogant man I have ever had the misfortune meet," said Tonks. She returned to her previous physical colour scheme. "Let alone be related to you."

"Why did we hide it?" Draco whispered. "Were you as-- as ashamed as I was? Was it your parents? No, I think you're just as proud as I, Nymphadora."

"Piss off," she said. "This is an Auror's _funeral_."

"Yes, mine wasn't half as grand. Shame-- I think I deserved a spectacle."

"You disgust me," said Ginevra.

"Calm down," I said. "We shame Alice's memory."

"Well I certainly didn't expect this, Hermione," Harry said at last.

"I'm sorry I've disappointed you," I said. "This is my choice."

"You're too curious," he warned.

"That's rich coming from you. All those years at school; the needless risks you took. You drove me sick with worry."

"We've all changed," Harry reasoned. "Even Malfoy. I will give you the benefit of my doubt. But if you hurt her, you will pay."

"You're generous, Harry," muttered Ginevra.

"I'm going to go," I said. "Good luck back in America, Ginevra. The rest of you I'll probably see in the closer future. Are you going out with the Longbottoms later?" I asked. They nodded. "Give my regards to Neville."

"Goodbye Hermione. Be careful," Ginevra said. She declined to shake hands with Draco. "You are sick, Malfoy. Sick."

"Oh thank you, Miss Weasley. Glad to know I have to honour of your good opinion."

I shrugged and Apperated home. Draco followed.

"What was all that about?" I asked him.

"I have some secrets that are not-so-secret anymore." He rolled his eyes. "How are you feeling?"

"Well arguing took my mind off Alice. What an existence. She was one of the strongest women I've ever met. Your aunt ruined something beautiful."

"It's not my fault!" he snapped. "I was two years old when she was sent to Azkaban."

"I didn't mean--" I began. But then I realized; I _had_ meant that-- vehemently. Ginevra's mood had rubbed off on me. I felt guilty. I frowned. "Good night."

"Good night, Hermione," he said. As we walked up the stairs, his hand brushed against mine. He didn't look at me-- I could almost think it was unintentional. I took the next flight upward two stairs at a time. Over the railing at the top, I watched him. His gait was far slower than mine. His father's black robes. . .

It was no wonder why I felt uncomfortable.

Author's Notes; Yes, this chapter is the Yellow Carnation. Not rose. It has come to my attention that this story will run for quite a few more chapters than I had expected and I simply don't have enough roses with appropriate meanings to go along with them. So, starting now, the chapter may or may not be a rose. I'll explain the meanings in the last chapter.

I don't normally respond to my reviewers, but I want to thank Dorian'sPortrait (your penname is absolutely Wilde, by the way) for actually reading my last author's notes and giving her thoughts. You made a good point about Hermione's intellect; I'll keep it in mind. Actual canon evidence regarding and defending the Draco/Hermione ship can be found at . I don't always follow this ship (my OTP is a love triangle Snape/Narcissa/Lupin) but Contra Veritas is very interesting. This story began as a response to a CV challenge (I doubt I would have even touched this ship before) but once I got past twenty pages of plot development and the end was nowhere in sight, I said screw the challenge and so I chose to listen to my Muse.

I only have one more finished chapter and I start my sophomore year on Monday so I'm going to have to put this on the back burner, so to speak. Updates will no doubt have far more time between them—I'm sorry! Thank you all for your supportive reviews—if you want to know how I really feel, read the author notes of the past two chapters. I personally think this is the best chapter so far but I'm still very open to ways I may improve. Thank you!


	8. Part VII: Monkshead and Nightshade

Author's Notes: After several months, I'm back. I threw out my first draft of this chapter; be glad I did. It was mostly dialogue and what this story really needed was something to set cogs in motion. I'm so glad so many of you have reviewed. To answer a few comments: I agree there should have been more reaction to Draco's return. That chapter will probably get rewritten. As to why all the chapters are flowers, I just wanted to do something with the symbolic embodiment of the chapter to set things up. I'll post the meanings at the end of the story. I hope you like this chapter, please keep leaving the helpful notes in your reviews.

Part VII: Monkshead and Nightshade

When I came downstairs in the morning, Draco was pacing in the library. It was barely five o'clock and the sun was only just beginning to make the room turn pink. I blinked sleepily and went to fumble for the light switch.

"Don't," Draco said firmly. "For five years that sun was obscured by the maze. I want to see it." He stopped and stared expectantly through the bay window.

"You're mad," I said. "I'm getting coffee."

He did not reply. The bright lights in the kitchen did seem garish in comparison to the sunrise. I fetched a cup of coffee and went back up to the library. "You can't even see the labyrinth from here," I said, joining him in the view. "I still can't really believe you're here. This entire week has been like a bizarre dream-- not a good one, but not yet a nightmare. I never should have asked you to come with me to the funeral. What did you tell Ginevra to make her so furious?"

"That's for her to know and for you to f-find out. All in good time. I'm readjusting to being a person again. Some things I'll tell you and other things you will s-see."

"You're stuttering less," I commented. "I've read that it's a sign of shock. You're becoming more accustomed to conversation. In other words; you're healing."

"You are a textbook. And I have a morbid taste for too much information; something you should know by now. No wonder I like you."

The room was becoming lighter. I smoothed my green healer's robes and sat in the window seat. "You are strange and you flatter me. I'm not worth it."

"We are a proud pair, Hermione. Someday it will be the d-downfall of the both of us. Your problem is that you don't have enough self-esteem and it would seem that I have f-far too much."

"My downfall, eh?" I considered Ginevra's sincere distrust. "Will I jump or will you push me, Draco?"

"If you ask for a shove, I'll not refuse," he said ominously.

He shielded his eyes from the sun and then resumed his pacing in front of the window. "I'll remember that," I returned. It was all I could say. Had that been a threat or a warning? In retrospect, I see that it was both.

"What happened after the War ended? How many of my Slytherin friends died; and what of those who did not?"

"Goyle and Crabbe died before you. . ."

"I knew that. Idiots. They were cowards. What happened to. . . let's see. . . Pansy Parkinson?"

"Pansy? Oh, she married Blaise Zabini last year. I saw her at St. Mungo's a while ago-- she's expecting twins."

Draco was speechless. "W-we can't be t-t-talking about the same person. Pansy and Blaise didn't even like each other," he said at length.

"Five years," I reminded him. "Time does funny things to people. Didn't you read all the wedding announcements in the Daily Prophet collections? I just recently found out that Seamus and Parvati are getting a divorce."

"I actually skipped that. And I never could see them together." He sat down in the window beside me.

"Do you remember Fleur, the Beaubatons witch in the Triwizard tournament? She's in Egypt with William Weasley and their son is just enchanting. But they're concerned as to which school he should attend when he's of age."

"That's what everyone did when the war ended-- they went and got m-married. Yes, with Voldemort gone, it s-s-suddenly became safe to have sex again." He laughed ruefully.

"It's another Baby Boom," I suggested. "It happened in the '50s and '60s in both the Muggle society and ours. Two wars ended; against Grindlewald and then World War II. The soldiers came home and got married. The rest is history." I shrugged then added, "I have had no such luck. I will die an old maid and this Manor will go to Nymphadora in spite of your effort."

He smirked. "Yes, that's our p-p-parents' generation. My father was born in 1954."

"Did your great-grandparents fight against or with Grindlewald? I can't even imagine you having great-grandparents. . ."

"It's n-not so hard. Where do you think more Malfoys come from?"

"I always assumed you planted coins and they grew."

"If only it were that- that simple," he laughed.

The grandfather clock in the foyer mournfully toned five-thirty. "I have to go work. I'll see you this evening," I said.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said. As I Apperated away, he had returned to watching the sunrise.

Tuesday evening Draco made an unusual request. I was hunched over a long scroll of parchment, studying fervently for an exam on Thursday. I was so engrossed in the page that despite the dragging sound of his lame foot, I didn't hear him approach, so when he spoke behind me, I almost jumped, splattering ink all over the sheet. "Could you do me a favor, Hermione?"

Muttering, I soaked up the ink with a handkerchief. "That depends. What do you want?"

"I want to know where Blaise Zabini lives these days."

"As far as I know, he's at the Zabini estate. Before he married Pansy he was considering moving back to Italy, but she would have nothing of that."

"She was quite the Anglophile," he mused. "Would you like to pay them a visit with me tomorrow?"

"Uninvited?"

"What better way is there to return from the dead?"

"I've never liked your sense of humour." I rolled up the parchment.

"But you'll come with me, won't you?" His smile was imploring.

"If we're not gone long. I do have a career, you know. As do they, you know."

"Wednesday evening is all I ask."

"I suppose," I said.

The Zabini estate is about an eighth the size of Malfoy Manor. We stood outside the intricate wrought iron gates-- the Apperation wards kept us from going further. Draco shook the strand of bells violently. In front of the gates, a glowing circle appeared. "Stand aside," Draco whispered. In the circle, Blaise's face took shape. Draco's eyebrows rose as he saw the long deep scar down Blaise's left cheek. The beard had also not been there when Draco had died.

"Who is there?" said the image of Blaise.

Slowly Draco raised his arm directly in front of the circle, keeping his body out of view. I realized what he was showing Blaise: an ornate silver ring with a large emerald.

"Well," said Blaise. "Please. . . please wait a moment." The circle disappeared. Seconds later, a house elf was scampering towards the gate with a key. It ushered us in. I cringed at the sight of it; old habits die hard. Surprisingly, its sack-like garment was spotlessly clean. That got me wondering, but not for long, because Blaise Zabini himself opened the door for us.

"So it is true," he said. "The Pureblood's curse." He did not seem at all surprised by Draco's pale complexion.

"It is true," said Draco.

"Curse?" I asked. "You never mentioned a curse!"

Blaise seemed to notice me for the first time. "Please enter, both of you."

"I intend to use it to my advantage, Zabini. You know what I must do." He gave a signature smirk. "I hear you've had no trouble on your own."

Blaise flushed. "I am married, Malfoy! We are good Catholics."

"Catholics. I've honestly given up religion, divination, all that. 'The fault is not in the stars, but in ourselves' et cetra. My family used to be Anglican," Draco mused.

"I'm Anglican," I said.

He didn't take much notice. "So you are. I want to talk to Zabini for a moment."

"Miss Granger, you may look around our library while I speak to Malfoy. It is around that corner," Blaise offered.

"No, what are you going to talk about, Draco? Why did you make me come if--"

"It is some business regarding witnesses. It's nothing."

Blaise looked surprised. "The amendment of your will was not nothing," he said seriously.

"Zabini," Draco snarled. "When will your wife be home?" he said through gritted teeth.

"Soon; I cannot say when. Miss Granger, if you please. . .?" He looked desperate.

"I know when I'm not wanted," I sighed. "Library, Zabini?"

"Around the corner." I started that way, but then I noticed Blaise looking back over his shoulder at me. "_Thank you_," he mouthed silently. I lurked around the corner to the room filled with books to see if I could hear anything. _ "Are you mad, Malfoy?!"_ I heard Blaise say. _"A clever little scheme for someone seventeen years old, but--"_

_"Are you defying me, Zabini? You know, I could tell Pansy that you--"_

_"I do no defy you, Malfoy! But I strongly suggest that you should rethink--"_

Their voices trailed off. I resorted to scanning the shelves. After a few minutes, the fireplace across the room began to glow green. I noticed that like the ones in the Ministry and St. Mungo's, it was a very tall fireplace in order to let a full-grown adult step out without knocking their head against the mantelpiece. And sure enough, Pansy stepped out coughing and brushing ashes from her short black hair.

"Blaise. . .?" she called. Then she noticed me. "Miss Granger!"

"You should not be traveling by Floo in your condition," I said sternly. "But that's beside the point," I said quickly at the sight of her glare. "I came here with--"

"Pansy," said Blaise, entering. "We have an unexpected. . . _guest_, dear."

"So I see," she said haughtily. "Why is Granger--"

"She came with him. I'm afraid I have bad news," he said.

"What is it?" she said urgently. "Is it about--"

"No. There was no way we could have anticipated this. It's the curse-- he's _here_, as we speak."

"Oh God," she said, glancing back at me. "Can it really be him?" Her expression was clearly worried.

"In the flesh," Blaise spat. "Stinking, unholy graveyard flesh--"

"No, no grave," Pansy reminded. "That's the curse's doing."

"What is this curse you keep talking about?" I said, becoming frustrated.

"Not here; not now," he warned. "He's waiting. I should have known. That Godawful will!"

"To think we signed our names to such a document." Pansy turned back to me, her expression changed completely from when she had first seen me in her home. "For everything yet to come; I am sorry," she whispered.

"Please stay here," said Blaise. "Let us finish this."

And they left me. It seemed an age before they returned, but in reality it couldn't have been longer than half of an hour. Draco swaggered into the library looking displeased. Pansy and Blaise followed; his arms were crossed, her expression sour. "We shall not be leaving as we came, Hermione." He took a pinch of Floo powder from the small crystal urn on the mantelpiece. "I renounce your hospitality Sir and Madame Zabini and declare you Blood Traitors. I hope the curse clots your bloodline from this generation on." He gestured dramatically with his wand to Pansy's pregnant state and stepped into the roaring green flames. "Come, Hermione."

"Much good his declaration does," Pansy scoffed. "He can't put it in formal writing as the official Malfoy heir."

"Why not?" I said, stunned by Draco's flamboyant exit. "Was that a true curse upon your line, Pansy?"

"No, just a threat," she said, sounding relieved. "He didn't even have enough power to Apperate back to Malfoy Manor."

"But why? I seem to be asking that so often," I added. "Did he bind you to muteness as well? Ginevra Weasley seems to know something about this as well."

"We don't know everything about the Pureblood's curse," said Blaise. "But we will be glad to tell you what we do know. Now you must go. I will speak with you as soon as I am able."

I Apperated directly to my room to avoid talking to him. _Not until I know about this curse_, I thought. _What can I do until then?_


	9. Part VIII: The Orange Rose

Author's Notes: The main event of this chapter was going to take place quite a few chapters ago, but I kept pushing it forward. Anyways, thank you all for the supportive reviews! I'm so thrilled to be more than half-way finished with this story—the end is in sight! Updates might have more time between them again as I am working on two other projects which I will begin to post next year. Happy holidays everybody and happy new year…

PART VIII: The Orange Rose

"What did they tell you?" Draco demanded through the door. "I-I know you're back; I heard you Apperate!"

"First tell me what the Pureblood's curse is," I said. "You laid a formal declaration of treachery!"

"Open the door and I'll tell you," he coaxed.

"Open it yourself-- use _Alohomora_," I said. The door did not move.

"I can't," said Draco ruefully. "Open this door and I'll explain why."

"Why should I trust you, Draco? At the Zabini estate, you just, I don't know. . . excommunicated. . . two of your old friends. I'm your enemy; the 'Mudblood Gryffindor' you so fondly called me!"

"Have you not listened to me at all these past days! That was all a facade; as real as my blond hair and- and grey eyes!" I heard him pound once on the door then sigh audibly. "I love you!"

I opened the door. He leaned against the outside wall, his back to me. "There, I've said it," he whispered. "The magic words. . . did they break the curse?"

"What got Zabini so pissed?" I asked. "I know you were going to blackmail him."

"Zabini knows that after I died, I am very weak magically. About the only thing I can do is Apperate, and only short distances at that."

"Ginevra's mad at you too. You bound her! That's horribly complex magic." I fumbled in the pocket of my robes for my reading glasses. His face became clearer.

"I cheated. The top of the cane my father carried his wand in is really a ring, similar to this one," he said, holding up the silver and emerald one he'd shown to Blaise. "It binds the wearer to silence of the past conversation. Only I can take it off."

"What did you tell her that's so dangerous you had to use an old Death Eater's trick?"

"She doesn't think I'm worthy of you, Hermione." His eyes met mine at last. "I suppose I'm not."

"I have a bottle Veritiserum that's been tucked away since the war," I said, hoping my voice wouldn't falter. _Blaise and Pansy must be overreacting,_ I thought. _He said he loved me. . . He's insane._

"That's illegal," he said, surprised.

"I know it is," I said firmly. The bottle didn't exist.

The corner of his pale mouth twitched up in a smile. "Get it," he dared. "I'll say the same thing: I love you."

"I--" I backed into the doorway again. "I have to study."

He grimaced. "Typical Hermione. Please just answer me. . ."

"I can't," I snapped. "It's not that simple, Draco."

"No? Why did you move into the Manor--? A notorious Death Eater family lived here."

"I had nowhere else to go," I said.

The smirk again. "You could have lived with Potter." I gave no reply. "No, I don't suppose you could have," he resigned. "Do you mind me being here?"

"No," I said at once, too truthful to think first before I answered. "No I don't mind." He kissed me suddenly and forcefully on the lips and drifted away down the stairs.

"Good luck on your exam."

Letitia sat down in the desk next to me in the cramped classroom in the basement of the hospital. "You'll never guess what happened yesterday," she said excitedly.

"You and Neville have set a date?" I suggested.

"No, not yet," she said. "Poppy Pomfrey's taking me on as an assistant starting on Monday the first!"

"You can be with Neville," I said. "That's wonderful, Letitia, congratulations."

"This is my last test at St. Mungo's. I'm going to finish the course with Madam Pomfrey and then take the exam for the Spell Damage degree over next summer."

"Are you sure you don't want to finish this year? Don't you think it would be easier?" I asked, taking out my notes on the Dragonpox and continuing my studying.

"I'm certain about this. It's going to work perfectly," said Letitia. Our professor, Hippocrates Smethwyck, cleared his throat loudly and the conversations between the Trainee Healers came to a stop.

"Good luck on your exam," he said dourly as he passed out the test. I dipped a quill in my ink pot and wrote my name at the top of the page. _Good luck on your exam._ How was it that I felt so elated when Draco had said the same words last night but when Smethwyck said them, I shuddered with distaste? _Draco's voice, that pale smile. . ._ I had to focus. I stared hard at the molecular structure of the vaccine and forced myself to concentrate.

"How was the test, Hermione?" asked Draco. "Easy or ridiculously easy?"

"Harder than usual. I couldn't think. Maybe I'll ill," I wondered.

"Lovesick?" he suggested. I rolled my eyes. "Maybe you are. Why did you bring me from the labyrinth? Why did you take me to that Auror's funeral?" His eyes seemed to glow. "Why do you trust me?" He edged closer.

"I don't," I said. "I don't understand any of this. What's the Pureblood's Curse?"

"Boring. It just complicates matters too much. . ."

He kissed me again. It had been too long since someone had loved me. Call me egotistical, there's something about those three words he kept whispering that made me feel different. Special. Wanted. Far too long. I had forgotten the feeling of forgetting everything else but the moment. I forgot the urgency in Blaise's voice; Ginevra's scowl. I forgot what it was like to be loved.

I woke with a green and silver ring on my hand.


	10. Part IX: The White Chrysanthemum

A/N: Thought I'd post this before the fandom goes to hell in the proverbial handbasket on the 16th. Enjoy—part X will be posted whenever I damn well feel like it!

Part IX: The White Chrysanthemum

I slid the ring on and off my finger as I sat waiting for class to start again after lunch. Since Letitia was gone, I had come back to the classroom early. The only other people in the room were Orla Quirke and Healer Smethwyck. I put on my glasses and started reading ahead in the textbook, when someone called my name. I glanced up to see Blaize, looking urgent.

"You're going to take a very long lunch break, Hermione. This is the only time I could arrange for us all to meet. We have to go _now_," he said.

"What do mean?" I asked. "I have to finish this class. I'll be done at five-thirty."

Blaise crossed his arms in an irritated manner. "Do you want to know about the Pureblood's Curse or not?"

"Alright," I said. I put the textbook back in my shoulder bag and approached Healer Smethwyck's podium. "I'm sorry, Healer, but something important has come up. I can't stay for the rest of the lesson."

"You've never missed a class before, Miss Granger," he said. "I suppose this must be very important to you. Very well."

"Life or death," said Blaise. "Zabini Manor; there's a portkey waiting for us."

"A portkey?" I repeated in surprise. He was gone, so I followed to the outside of the Manor. Blaise unlocked the gate and once again I entered the white house.

"She's here," called Blaise. An voice from around the corner answered "We're in here." He set off in that direction. "Pansy and Ginevra are in the library," he said.

"We've gather as many people as we could who know about the curse. They're waiting," said Pansy.

"Where are we going?" I asked in exasperation.

"Egypt," said Ginevra.

The portkey was Pansy's old Prefect badge. We stood around it and all took a corner. When I opened my eyes, I was in a large room with a round table. "Please take a seat," said Bill Weasley. I noted that Fleur was also there with their son Geoffrey and-- to my surprise-- Luna Lovegood.

I sat between Ginevra and Luna and looked about awkwardly. Ginevra still had the Silencing ring on.

Blaise cleared his throat and spread a sheet of parchment out. "This," he said, "is Draco Malfoy's will. It has been in the Malfoy vault at Gringotts since 1998. Hermione, you briefly saw this when you moved to the Manor, but you've never read it have you?"

"No," I said.

"I quote: 'Ammendment to the Last Will and Testament of Draco Gabriel Malfoy-- 1st January, 1998. I, Draco G. Malfoy, do bequeath possession of Malfoy Manor and all surrounding lands, plus access to all my family's monetary holdings in Gringotts Wizarding Bank to Miss Hermione Jane Granger in the event of my untimely death without an heir.' That all sounds normal, does it not?" Blaise asked.

"Yes," I said. "Is there something else?"

"I shall continue," said Blaise. " 'I have made this Ammendment to my Will in good health and under the supervision of the following witnesses: Blaise Dion Zabini, Evan Michael Rosier, and Pansy Aurora Parkinson. These three witnessess are of Pure Blood and reside in Slytherin House. I write this Will in a time of War and Desperation; laying all Faith in the chance that I am indeed carrier of the Pureblood's curse.

"In the act of signing of this Will, my three witnesses and I form a four-fold pact. The signing in Miss Parkinson's blood shall signify a blessing upon Miss Granger for fertility."

"You signed in blood?" Ginevra interjected.

"Menstrual blood," Pansy reassured her. Ginevra shuddered nonetheless.

"Please continue, Zabini," said Bill Weasley.

" 'The signing of Mr. Rosier in gold shall be a blessing of luck and patience upon Miss Granger. The signing of Mr. Zabini in poison shall be a blessing upon Miss Granger for long life and good health. And the truthful signing of Mr. Malfoy in ink shall be an extension of his undying love and personal interest in Miss Granger. We sign this Will as the year turns and the bells of War toll out.' And we all signed it," Blaise added.

"But what does it mean?" I asked.

"Perhaps you should tell her about ze curse?" asked Fluer.

"It's why my parents had seven of us. We were afraid Dad carried the curse after his brother-- my uncle Bilius-- died," said Ginevra.

"It still makes me a little afraid," said Bill. "I wish Fred would hurry up and marry Angelina. Then it wouldn't all rest on Geoffrey when we pass on."

"You're not planning on more?" Pansy asked. Fleur shook her head in horror. Pansy shrugged. "We're thinking about one more after the twins are born."

"Yes, we are," said Blaise. "But we digress. Hermione, as you might have just inferred, the Pureblood's curse is carried by a male heir who is the only surviving member of his family who has died without a grave."

"Draco's body just vanished," I agreed.

"My knowlage of what happens after his death is shakey, because there is only one written account of this resurrection. It was written by Luna Lovegood's great-something-grandfather. He died in 1860?" Blaise glanced a Luna who nodded dreamily. "Being the only Lovegood heir, he wrote that after he died, he was surrounded by faceless beings who presented him with a choice. He could choose between three levels of death-- spiritual, physical, and magical. He had the option of choosing all three, but no less than two.

"Lovegood chose the death of his soul and his magical abilities over the death of his body, so the beings told him he could return to the living world in order to father an heir who would continue the Lovegood line. Their condition was that the mother must be Muggle-born."

"Draco read Lovegood's account and knew he would have the same option when he died," said Pansy. "That's why we made that pact. So he could come back to life and continue the Malfoy line."

"The only reason he wants you is so he can sire a half-blood heir," Blaise said firmly. "Has he tried to seduce you yet?"

I said nothing for a good three minutes. I could feel all their eyes upon me, and my face turning red. Rather than admit all the details, I extended my hand and presented the ring.

Pansy put her hand over her mouth. "That's Narcissa Black's ring," she whispered.

"Oh God," groaned Ginevra. "Hermione. . . are you in love with Draco Malfoy?"

I froze. I swallowed and looked around. "Yes," I said.

"Well that's going to make things difficult," said Blaise.

"He doesn't love you, Hermione," said Ginevra. "All he wants is a child."

"What's so difficult, Blaise?" I asked.

"You don't want him to get away with this, do you? He's lied to you!"

I rose. "No! He hasn't lied at all. He told to wait, that he'd tell me later."

"Later being when you're pregnant with his heir?" asked Pansy bitterly. Blaise cast her a worried look, but she shook her head and smiled back at him.

I sighed and sat down again. "What do you think I should do?"

"There's only one way." Blaise met my eyes. "You have to kill Draco."


	11. Part X: The Red Carnation

Part X: The Red Carnation

"I can't do that," I said, horrified.

"You can't let him get away with manipulating you like this," said Ginevra pressingly.

"Luna, what do you think?" asked Bill.

Until now, Luna had sat on my left observing. She turned on me, baring her crooked teeth. "I think? I think you should have listened when I warned you! He's fake, all the way through. Your child will be fake and it will spread like cancer from there. And when he leaves, as I know he will, you'll be stuck in a phony life with a dragon-child."

"I'm sorry," I said as I stood up. "I thank you for your efforts and for your research, but I do not thank you for your solution. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, I thank you for your hospitality. Goodbye."

I Apperated back to Malfoy Manor. It was almost five, according to the tall grandfather clock. I went up the stairs to my room and changed out of my green Healer's uniform and into a plain set of black and light blue robes. I looked around but could not find Draco, which was just as well.

Crookshanks took to sniffing my shoes-- I'd been to Egypt after all. I left him chewing the boot laces and rolling on the floor. I checked an address in my little book and decided to pay an old friend an unexpected call. He hadn't been at the Anniversary Celebration, so I hoped he would be home. I took my chances and Apperated there and rang the bell.

I stood for a good three minutes waiting, fearing he wasn't there. But then I heard a shuffling inside, and the door swung open. "Miss Granger," he said, sounding surprised.

"Hello, Professor Lupin," I said. His hair was streaked with more grey now than when I had last seen him. The left arm of his patched knit cardigan dangled limply; an everlasting reminder of the effects of the Last Battle. "Can I discuss something with you?"

"Please," he responded and gestured inside with his remaining arm. I stepped inside gingerly and we made dull small-talk as he prepared a kettle of tea: "Did you hear about your old friend Neville Longbottom and Letitia Pye?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Miss Pye has taken on an Apprenticeship with Poppy Pomfrey."

"I know."

He set the teacup down in front of me. "Well, I'm afraid I don't have any other scintillating bits of gossip. Your turn." He took a seat in a worn-looking armchair.

I sighed and sipped my tea. "Have you ever heard of the Pureblood's curse, Professor?"

"Ah," he said. "I'm a half-blood myself, but Sirius told me about it after his brother Regulus died. And I've read Errol Lovegood's memoirs, of course."

I thought for a moment. "Wait. . . Sirius was the last pureblood heir of the Blacks and he died without a grave. The curse applies to him as well as Draco."

"So you know the conditions of the curse?" I nodded. "I know what you're thinking-- but no. Sirius promised he would stay dead. But what of Draco Malfoy?"

I explained how I had broken the code and found Draco and what had happened up until the meeting in Egypt. "I can't kill him," I said in horror. "I don't know if I can trust him, but nonetheless. . ."

"You're in love, Hermione?" Lupin's voice was soft and consoling.

I nodded hopelessly. "Is it true? Is he only using me?"

Lupin said nothing for quite a while, but then he told me, "Drink your tea. You'll feel better."

I pulled my glasses out of my pocket and blinked valiantly to hold back foolish tears. I gulped the tea as instructed and felt better, as he had said. "What should I do?" My voice was barely a whisper.

"Murder is out of the question?" I gave him a baleful look. He smiled faintly. "This is a bit of a hard question. Do you really want to be with Malfoy and bare his heir?"

"I'm just starting to build my career-- I can't be a mother," I said. "But I'm in love with him, I cannot deny that."

"So tell him that. If he's willing to wait for you, he's sincere. If his only purpose for coming back to life was to get you knocked up-- which is what the Weasleys and Zabinis seem to think, I'm afraid-- force might be one of your choices."

"He's very weak," I reminded. "He gave up his magic and soul in exchange for his life. It's all a little like Doctor Faustus, but the devil's not involved as far as I know."

"The best I can tell you is to trust yourself. You seem to have clearer goals than he; use that to your advantage."

"Thank you Professor Lupin," I said. "I'll try. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice."

"You are welcome to turn up on my doorstep any day, Hermione," he smiled. "Leaving your abandoned children on my doorstep, on the other hand. . ."

"Stop that!" I exclaimed. "Goodbye."

"I'm glad I could try and help you. Goodbye."

I left feeling rather better than when I'd left the Weasley residence in Egypt.

Author's Note: So I've returned, 3 months later. I'm afraid I don't have any more written down after this point. I don't know if I'm going to continue it, so I thought I'd give you what I have.


	12. Part IX The Red Rose

This is a note from the author, Mad Maudlin. I'm starting my senior year at the moment, and soon I'll be applying to college. I'm afraid the gist of this note is that I will not be continuing this story. I began "Smoke and Mirrors" my freshman year, excited by the new possibilities Order of the Phoenix posed. I had my speculations and I ran with them, a newcomer to the world of fan fiction.

"Smoke and Mirrors" actually began as a challenge in a Valentine's Day Hr/D fic exchange. I didn't have an LJ at the time, so I was never an official member, but one challenge interested me:

"3-5 Things to Include in the Fic:

Roses; both white AND red (other colors optional)

Chocolates; this is Valentine's Day, after all

A good representation of real love

Character depth; make me believe you, please!

At least one tryst; interruptions optional

What not to include in the fic:

Slash/femmeslash, plot holes, Mary Sueism, irrational character changes (angelic!Draco or bad!Hermione, unless you're reeeeally good), bastardized characters, overuse of clichés (prophecy, or click "I'm in love!", etc……. again with the BELIEVABILITY)"

I used this as a starting point, but took some different directions with it. I never got to the chocolates, although they WERE going to show up. When I originally had the idea, Draco was going to be a bad character, never in love with her, only trying to manipulate her. In the end, a tormented Hermione was really going to kill him. Then I got in the swing of things and that just couldn't happen.

A few months ago, I looked back on this story. It's the longest thing I've ever written, passing 13,000 words. Overall, I'm pretty darn proud of it, and I thank all of you for your support. I tried to continue, but it was a static ending– with Draco reluctantly going back into the labyrinth. I'd been away from the characters for so long they'd grown away from me.

(A small accuracy note: In chapter IX, mentioned Evan Rosier as a classmate and signer of Draco's will. Obviously I'm insane, because Rosier was a first generation Death Eater who was killed by Aurors. Oops.)

I think I've just about outgrown fan fiction, and I'm on to focusing on my original work. I hope you have enjoyed this story, because I remember being very fond of it as I wrote it.

As promised, here is the symbolism behind the chapter titles. There was nothing really major ever hidden in them, just a little reflection on the chapter's theme.

Rosebuds. A sign of beginnings, appropriate for a prolouge

Yellow Rose. Friendship (Harry and Hermione), but also an ended love

Lavender Rose. Enchantment

White Rose. Innocence, but also to symbolize Draco's white skin

Pale Peach Rose. Modesty

Coral Rose. Sadness

Yellow Carnation. Disdain

Monkshead and Nightshade. Yes, that should be "monkshood." These poisonous plants represent a warning.

Orange Rose. Fascination, desire

White Chrysanthemum. Truth

Red Carnation. "My heart aches for you."

Red Rose. True love and respect

I never got to the Red Rose, but that would have been the next chapter, if I could ever decide on a final ending! Thank you for your support and enthusiastic reviews. Some of my rose meanings came from www (dot) floraldesignsmaui (dot) com (slash) languageroses (dot) htm and www (dot) floraldesignsmaui (dot) com (slash) language (dot) htm (remove the spaces and replace the words with their symbols). In closing, I give you hydrangea and the Carolina rose. (That's "thank you for understanding" and a reminder that "love is dangerous.")

Regards,

Mad Maudlin

September 2, 2006


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